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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444043">wanna be happy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesau/pseuds/rosesau'>rosesau</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Best Friends, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, i have a kink for healthy communication so here i am attempting it in very few words</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesau/pseuds/rosesau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A kiss on the back of Harry’s neck sends a flutter down his spine.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” he asks, still disoriented. Louis must have used the spare key he still has. Of course. Harry’s surprised he didn’t do that earlier.</p><p>“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Louis says. “I brought dinner.”</p><p>
  <i>or the one where harry's too stubborn for his own good and louis just wants a way inside.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wanna be happy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi happy valentine's day ! enjoy this thing i impulsively wrote to scratch an itch i hope u like it and if u do then pls leave a comment bc it's the only way i get a shot of serotonin these days. i'm rosesau on tumblr if u wanna say hello or come chat! big love &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry stares at the black canvas in front of him and groans when strokes of paint don’t magically appear on it. He was hoping to make at least a little progress on this piece today but, so far, all he’s managed to do is smear paint on his hands and stain his clothes in unforgivable ways. He finished two paintings last week and things were looking up. He was inspired again. But now it’s been three days of staring helplessly at a blank canvas with absolutely zero ideas. He wants to throw shades of blue at it, but his client was very specific in her demands. And it’s not like he thinks the blue would even look good. </p><p>He just wants to see if he can mix that specific shade of blue just right by memory. Just wants to see if he can hurt himself even more. </p><p>His phone lights up with a notification: someone has requested to message him on Instagram. He doesn’t recognize the handle, but swipes on the notification anyway and opens the app. He doesn’t boast about it, but Harry is quite proud of the way the account has grown in the last year or so. There was a time when he’d be lucky to garner a hundred likes on any post; now every post gets well over a thousand double tabs. It’s also where most inquire about commissions the most. The message request is regarding a restock of the Medusa print and Harry doesn’t know if that particular piece will return, so he leaves the message as is for now. </p><p>When he clicks on the main feed icon, his sister’s smiling face fills the screen—posted by her boyfriend. He likes it immediately without paying attention to the caption because Michael always waxes poetic about Gemma and Harry doesn’t particularly care about it at the moment. He can’t begrudge Gemma her happiness, but he also cannot focus on it when a cloud of misery has been following him for weeks. He leaves a yellow heart in the comments and scrolls past post after post of people living enviable lives. </p><p>And there it is. </p><p>The shade of blue Harry has been dying to see again. Well, not <em>quite</em>—it’s distorted by the disposable camera quality and the dark lighting, but Harry would know it anywhere. The picture is taken from an odd angle, looking up at Zayn’s laughing face squished into Louis’ chest, whose wide eyes stare at the camera in delight. </p><p>Harry knew this would happen. Zayn already showed him other highlights from the night, but this one hurts in a way those hadn’t. Probably because Zayn was smart enough to leave out any photos with Louis in them. This one was posted yesterday by Liam, with the caption: <em>my sexy boyfriend with his pretty boyfriend who’s probably looking for his pouty boyfriend who— </em></p><p>Fuck this. </p><p>Fuck him and his issues. </p><p>He closes the app and opens iMessage. It should be embarrassing that Louis is still only the sixth name on the list, weeks after they last spoke. The last text in the conversation is from Harry: a useless <em>“I will”</em> in response to Louis’ <em>“Let me know when you’re ready.” </em></p><p>It has been almost three weeks since then. </p><p>There was a voicemail, too. Louis called two weeks ago, numerous times, and Harry didn’t answer him once. Then he curled up in bed and listened to Louis’ voice. Now he opens up the call log and listens to it again. </p><p>
  <em>“Harry. Hey. Happy Birthday, darling. I wish I could see you today, but I know you still want some time to yourself. And that’s okay, you know? I can wait. I miss you, though. I hope you’re having a good day. I, uh… I’ll see you soon, babe. I love you.”</em>
</p><p>If he hadn’t already memorized the message word for word, if he didn’t know exactly which word Louis’ voice catches on, Harry’s sure he’d be crying right now. </p><p>There hasn't been anything new today and Harry wonders if maybe Louis has finally had enough. Maybe he’s sick and tired of being the only mature adult in their relationship. </p><p>
  <em>Stop being a dick and just talk to him. </em>
</p><p>He types out <em>Miss you, </em>deletes the two words and replaces them with <em>How are you,</em> and deletes that too. He doesn’t want to text Louis. He wants to <em>be</em> with Louis. He wants to paint the grooves of Louis’ hands. He wants to kiss Louis again and remember what it’s like to feel warm on a cold day. </p><p>It is so lonely in his flat. </p><p>It used to be his happy place. All the plants he’s grown around his space, all his artwork displayed here or there, half-done canvases and paint brushes and easels and suncatchers and windchimes. It used to bring him joy. Now all he can focus on are the places that miss Louis: the sofa cushion that’s always cold, the yellow mug that’s been untouched for weeks, the side of the bed that hasn’t been slept in, the four walls that haven’t heard Louis’ laughter in ages. Now it’s all depressing. </p><p>Harry misses him with an ache in his bones. </p><p><em>Hi,</em> he texts. </p><p>Then he gets up from the floor and heads to his room, peeling his paint smeared clothes off on his way. Louis left one of his hoodies here a while back and Harry hasn’t touched it since—only because he’s been sleeping in Louis’ other shirt for days. It’s the closest Harry can get to him these days and it’s only his fault. He digs out the hoodie and pulls it over his head, getting in bed immediately afterwards. He stares at his phone and wills it to light up with a text, but the screen stays pitifully dark. </p><p>He doesn’t notice when his eyelids become too heavy to keep open.</p><p>△▽△</p><p>Something feels different even before Harry is fully awake. </p><p>He’s warm. </p><p>There’s an arm curled over him, a body pressed against his back, their legs tangled. The fingers he knows so well move tenderly against the open palm of his hand and tangle with his own. There’s a stutter in the rhythm of his heartbeat. </p><p>“Hi, baby,” whispers Louis’ honey silk voice. Harry tries to turn over so he can make sure it’s really, that he isn’t dreaming, but Louis' grip on him tightens. “No, stop moving. Just stay with me a bit.” </p><p>A kiss on the back of Harry’s neck sends a flutter down his spine. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” he asks, still disoriented. Louis must have used the spare key he still has. Of course. Harry’s surprised he didn’t do that earlier. </p><p>“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Louis says. “I brought dinner.” </p><p>Harry stares at their hands, the way they look <em>just right</em> together. The contrast between his own blocky fingers and Louis’ calloused ones. He wants to turn over and kiss Louis, but he can’t move. “But you’re <em>here,”</em> he says uselessly. </p><p>“Yeah.” Louis’ hold on him goes lax and Harry turns around with his heart beating in his throat. “I’m not leaving tonight.” </p><p>There he is. Mere inches away from Harry. Harry doesn’t know what he expected from Louis when they finally saw each other again, but it certainly wasn’t this. He didn’t expect Louis to look this <em>soft,</em> gazing at Harry like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be spending his time with. Maybe he thought Louis would be angry, annoyed. Maybe he’d be fed up with everything and rightfully so. But his eyes are that soft bridge between blue and grey and Harry breaks. </p><p>He leans in. And he sees Louis’ sharp intake of breath, the way his chest stops moving. </p><p><em>This is your fault.</em> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers and hates himself for the way his voice breaks. Harry closes his eyes and bites hard at his lip so he doesn’t fucking cry. “You didn’t have to come here. I’ll be fine.” </p><p>“No.” Louis’ voice is sharp, but the gentle touch on Harry’s cheek belies it. His thumb strokes Harry’s cheekbone and he says, “I’m not letting you do this anymore, H. I let you be alone for damn near a month. I gave you your time for your birthday, but I’m not letting both of us be miserable on Valentine’s Day. Now you’re going to come and have a nice dinner with me and then we’re going to talk. Yeah?” His thumb taps against Harry’s cheek. “Can you look at me, please?” </p><p>Harry does. He opens his eyes and finds Louis looking at him with so much affection that it brings about another wave of guilt that he desperately pushes away. </p><p>Louis smiles. “Dinner?” </p><p>Harry tries and fails to mimic the gesture. “What are we having?” </p><p>“Got you sushi from that corner place.” Louis tugs at a stray curl of Harry’s. “But first I’m going to kiss my boyfriend because I’ve bloody missed him.” </p><p>Louis doesn’t give him time to process that. One second he’s smiling at Harry and the next he’s kissing Harry, hand moving from Harry’s cheek to his hair. Harry sinks into the feeling. The past few weeks of <em>missing Louis</em> catch up to him and he clutches at Louis’ clothes, needing more, but Louis isn’t rushed. He kisses Harry with purpose, soft and slow, imploring. He dots kisses all over Harry’s face, like he’s trying to pry Harry open at the seams, and he stops with his lips pressed against Harry’s forehead. His hands slip under Harry’s hoodie—<em>his hoodie</em>—and Harry feels him smile. </p><p>“You smell like me.” </p><p>Harry could stay here forever. </p><p>“I missed you,” he tells Louis. “All the time I missed you.” </p><p>Louis pulls him impossibly closer. </p><p>“I’m here. Let’s go eat.” </p><p>△▽△</p><p>It’s like Louis was never gone. And he <em>wasn’t;</em> Louis never left. He didn’t go anywhere. It was Harry who shut himself away and stowed the key out of reach and still here Louis is—like he was never locked out. Like he always knew how to get inside Harry. </p><p>He walks around the kitchen with a familiarity that aches Harry. He pulls out plates and wine glasses and sets the table, all while telling Harry about his day so far—how he was lazing around with Clifford until he got Harry’s text and then decided enough was enough. He dims the lights in the room and burns Harry’s favorite candle dead center of the table. </p><p>“I stopped by a florist on the way but they were just about sold out of anything decent, so I just got these,” Louis says as he scatters various flower petals on the table. “The thought that counts.”</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>This morning Harry didn’t think he’d be ending his day like this—having a candlelit dinner with the love of his life. Of course, he hasn’t told Louis that yet. A month ago, the thought of doing that induced a panic attack. Now, sitting across from Louis with a rose petal between his fingers, he thinks he should say it. There won’t be a better time and Louis deserves more than Harry’s unexplained cold shoulder. </p><p>“This is really good,” he says around a bite. </p><p>Louis looks up at him with a smile etched into his face. “I know. Went out of my way to get it because I know you love it.” </p><p>“I don’t deserve you.” </p><p>He doesn’t mean to say that out loud, but he can’t pull the words back. Louis frowns and Harry hates himself for being the reason for that. Louis realizing he’s too good for Harry is the stuff of Harry’s nightmares. He doesn’t know how he’d come back from that. His mum never really did when his dad left. </p><p>Louis doesn’t say anything and that makes Harry more anxious. </p><p>“You know what I hate the most?” The words are out before he can think through them and that’s just his problem, isn’t it. Always doing things before thinking. He doesn’t look at Louis when he says, “If it were anyone else—if I were having problems with anyone else—I know I’d come to you. I know I’d tell you what’s wrong and you’d talk me through it because you’re my best friend.” Harry stares at his empty plate. “Who am I supposed to talk to now?” </p><p>“What are you talking about?” </p><p>“This is why friends shouldn’t date,” Harry says quietly and he hates the words but it’s there in his chest every night when he sleeps alone. </p><p>He misses his friendship with Louis more than anything, but he doesn’t want to settle with just friendship—not when he knows so much more about Louis. The way he smiles into his kisses and the way he looks when he wakes up with his hair untamed and the way he slips his hand between Harry’s thighs when they’re on the sofa and the way he calls Harry <em>peaches</em> and <em>my darling dearest</em> and the way he leaves voicemails when he doesn’t have to and the way he goes out of his way to buy sushi from the corner place because he knows it’s Harry’s favorite and the way he buys a bag of a petals because he couldn’t buy real flowers in time. </p><p>“I disagree wholeheartedly,” Louis says. “I think friends should date more often.” </p><p>He gets up with their plates and walks over to the sink. </p><p>“I am <em>here,</em> Haz. Still your best friend. I’m <em>listening.</em> You’re just not talking.” </p><p>“Sorry.” </p><p>“No, don’t—don’t do that. Just talk.” </p><p>Harry has been doing that. He has been talking to this therapist for months, long before Harry found the ring in Louis’ pocket. He just doesn’t know how to say all of that to Louis without sounding damaged and broken. He knows Louis isn’t a stranger to the shitty details of his life, but he never thought Louis would ever be on the receiving end of any of it. Louis was always his best friend, someone there to let light in when everything around Harry caved in. Harry wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. </p><p>He gets up from the table and walks up behind Louis. “Leave it.” He takes the silverware and places it back in the sink. “Stop doing all this and being so lovely when I’ve just been a dick to you.” </p><p>Louis flicks water at him. “Then stop being a dick. I know you’ve got it in you.” </p><p>And it’s like… Louis is <em>here.</em> He’s here and he’s Harry’s best friend and he’s the love of Harry’s life and he is so very here. And Harry feels like a fool for being the way he is. He curls a hand in Louis’ hoodie and pulls him in for a kiss. It sends warmth blooding in his chest. </p><p>“I’ve been talking to my therapist about you.” </p><p>Louis laughs into his neck. “I’m sure she’s a wonderful, capable person who’s very good at their job, but maybe just talk <em>to</em> me?” </p><p>Harry slips his arms around Louis’ waist; the erratic beat of his heat contradicts his nonchalance.“You might not like what I have to say.” </p><p>“I don’t care. I still want to know.” </p><p>“Okay.” It’s the earnestness in Louis’ voice that grounds him. “I think I was testing you when I shut myself away for a month. Like not… intentionally. I wasn’t thinking, ‘Oh, I’m gonna be the most awful person to him and see how he reacts.’ None of that. I think I just wanted to see if you would… stay. But I didn’t know that’s what I was doing until later.” </p><p>There’s a crease between Louis’ eyebrows. Harry wants to smooth it away but he stays put. “I don’t follow,” Louis says. </p><p>Harry notes that they’re sort of locked in an embrace as he’s about to spill the worst parts of himself and he’d laugh at it if Louis wasn’t looking at him like that. </p><p>“Lou, you know I’ve always had… commitment issues. You know, child of divorce and all that. And you know I’ve sabotaged more relationships than I care to count. You <em>know.”</em> He can't meet Louis’ eyes. He can’t. “I found the ring. I heard you tell someone about it.” </p><p>He wants to see Louis’ face, wants to see what emotions that elicits, but he can’t lift his eyes from the lines in his floors. Louis is steady pressed up against him, warm and solid and <em>here.</em> </p><p>“Baby…” </p><p>With his eyes closed, Harry puts a hand over Louis’ mouth. “No, listen. Please.” </p><p>“You need to look at me, darling,” Louis says, softly. </p><p>And Harry really, really doesn’t think he can, but he opens his eyes anyway. He gazes down at Louis, who’s already looking at Harry with eyes that hide nothing. <em>Can I paint you?</em> Harry wants to ask. </p><p>“I’m scared I’ll end up like my mum,” he says. “Like I’ll end up being collateral damage or something.” It’s a confession that shakes his knees and makes his hands clammy around Louis, but he doesn’t crumble. Louis holds him up. </p><p>Louis caresses his cheek gently. “You are not your parents, Harry. I’m not your dad and thank God for that.” He laughs halfheartedly at his own joke, but Harry doesn’t have it in him to join. “Babe. I’m here. You had your moment and you went through something and I’m still here. Our parents’ past isn’t our future.” </p><p>Harry knows that. He tries so hard to hold onto that fact whenever he feels himself spiraling, but it’s hard to hold on to anything when he’s falling. </p><p>“Gemma said the same thing to me,” he tells Louis. Poor Gemma. She tried endlessly to talk some sense into Harry when she found out he’d shut Louis out like that. And when he told her why, she threw a fit about Harry sabotaging everything good in his life. </p><p>“He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” she said. “If you push him away because there’s a <em>tiny</em> chance he might hurt you at some point, I might physically fight you, Harry.” </p><p>“She always was the brighter Styles’ sibling,” Louis says with a wink and this time Harry can’t help but laugh. </p><p>“Don’t be mean when I’m at my most vulnerable.” He exaggerates his pout because he knows he can get away with it. </p><p>Louis rolls his eyes out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re pouring your heart out. I wasn’t gonna propose with that ring, you twat, it was supposed to be your birthday gift.” He kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Please just talk to me from here on out. I thought you were having another one of your depressive episodes and you wanted to be alone. If I’d known you were working yourself up over a <em>ring,</em> I wouldn’t have been so far away. I would’ve been here, love. I’m not going anywhere.” </p><p>“I know, Lou. I just didn’t realise I needed a reminder.” </p><p>Louis steps up onto his toes so he doesn’t have to look up at Harry. “Next time come to <em>me</em> for it. Don’t go looking for it from your shrink.” </p><p>Harry bites back a grin. “Don’t diss the shrink. She just led me back to you. Or well—I would have come to you in a couple of days if you hadn’t shown up here. But I wanted to paint something for you first and I haven’t done that yet.” </p><p>Louis shakes his head in faux disappointment, even though he’s grinning too. His mouth is centimeters away from Harry’s. “Excuses upon excuses, Harry. You’re shameless.” </p><p>“Yeah. I am.” Harry splays his hand on Louis’ back. “Please kiss me.” </p><p>Louis’ comes impossibly closer and Harry can taste his breath and still they’re not kissing. “First I need you to know that you’re not something I run from, ever. You’re what I run towards. Always.” Louis kisses him once, just a tease of a kiss. “Promise me you won’t hide away again.” </p><p>And Harry’s heart sinks. “I can’t,” he says honestly. He doesn’t want to lie. When Louis frowns, he says, “I can’t promise you that but I can promise you this: I’ll tell you if I want to hide again. I can promise not to leave you in the dark.” </p><p>“Okay.” Another tiny kiss. “I can work with a compromise. You’re the love of my life, peaches.” </p><p>And then Harry doesn’t wait. He pulls Louis into a bruising kiss, a month’s worth of longing and desire spilling into it. Louis doesn’t slow them down, either, not at first. He kisses back with an intensity that curls something molten in Harry’s chest, coaxes the breath right out of Harry’s lungs until they’re both gasping for air. </p><p>“I know you haven’t gotten laid in a month,” Louis murmurs, “but I came here for some Valentine’s romance. So dance with me, my darling.”</p><p>“Okay.” Harry doesn’t point out that there’s no music. He lets Louis lean his head against Harry’s shoulder and they move to a beat that isn’t playing. He knows they’re both thinking of the same song. </p><p>Right now, with Louis in his arms, Harry’s worries seem nonconsequential. He knows that in a month or a year he could be having doubts about his own ability to be loved, but right now he’s sated. He knows he’s loved. He knows he’s one of the lucky ones—he’s loved by his dearest friend in the whole world. He knows he’s happy for the first time in a long time. He just wants this feeling to last. </p><p>He just wants to be happy and he knows he will be with Louis next to him. </p>
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